Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27657 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27657 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Dylan chuckles, the dark sound washing over me and making me shiver. Everything he does affects me. “Don’t be a brat if you can’t take the punishment,” he whispers as he leans down to tuck my hair over my ear.
My mind whirs as I process that delicious threat, wondering just what his punishment would entail, and it’s only when Dylan loops his arm around my waist and forces me to take a few steps forward that I realize I’ve been standing on the spot like an idiot.
“Well, I never!” the hostess says as we step up to her stand. “Do my eyes deceive me or has the elusive Dylan Dixon deigned to grace us with his presence?”
Dylan groans, but I burst out into laughter, immediately deciding I like this woman. Still, it’s clear Dylan is not used to interacting with people, so I cut him some slack. “I thought he was kidding when he said he’d only ever been in here a few times,” I pipe up, turning the hostess’ attention to me and away from Dylan. The way he squeezes my waist feels like a silent thank you.
“Oh no, and we’ve certainly never seen him out with a pretty thing like you on his arm before.” She picks up some menus and leads us to our table, a cozy one tucked away in the corner. “You must be something special if you’ve got him out of his shell.”
“She is,” Dylan says roughly, and the hostess pops the menus on the table before placing her hand over her heart as if to say how sweet.
Dear god, I’m blushing so hard I’m sure the entire restaurant can see how red I’ve gotten.
“Your waitress will be over in a few to grab your drinks order,” she says, giving us a kind smile before she walks away and gives us some space.
Dylan pulls my chair out for me and I sit, but instead of taking his own seat across from me, he tugs the chair round to the side. When he sits, we’re side by side and our thighs press together.
Something tells me I’m going to be a blushing, desperate mess by the time this dinner is done.
When Dylan’s huge hand lands on my thigh under the table, fingers tracing sweeping circles on the inside of my leg, I know for sure I’m screwed.
Still, he plays nice while we order our drinks—rosé for me and just water for him—and I spend ten minutes choosing between starters. When the waitress comes, Dylan orders all three of the options I’d been unable to pick between, even when I insist it’s not necessary.
“You can have whatever you want, petal,” he tells me with a dark edge to his voice once the waitress has left with our orders.
“I don’t need mozzarella sticks, bruschetta, and the arancini,” I insist, though secretly, the fact that he’s more than happy to let me eat whatever I want makes me ridiculously happy.
Living as a woman in this world means that I’ve had my fair share of unwelcome comments about my weight or looks, and it’s incredibly reassuring to know Dylan is nothing like those assholes.
“But you wanted them,” Dylan counters easily, hand tightening on my thigh as he squeezes. “Besides, you haven’t eaten nearly enough today. I have half a mind to feed you every fucking item on the menu.”
I giggle at that, taking a sip of my drink. Soon, our food arrives and I take a bite of each of our options, stifling a moan as I sink back into my chair in happiness.
“Oh my god, this is all so good,” I say happily, taking another bite of a perfectly crispy and gooey mozzarella stick. My skin prickles and I glance sideways, finding Dylan staring at me with undisguised hunger in his eyes. Suddenly, I’m craving more than the food in front of us.
“Keep making noises like that, petal, and we’re not going to make it to dessert,” he warns, gaze dropping to my mouth.
I swallow then smile, batting my lashes at him. “You’re going to have to learn to control yourself,” I say teasingly, leaning closer to him. “Because I saw chocolate fudge cake on the menu, and if you make me leave before that, I’m gonna be so mad.”
Dylan’s lip quirks up on one side in a smirk I know means trouble. “Fine,” he drawls, plucking my fork from my hand and stealing the bite of arancini I had lined up. I watch him chew and swallow, captivated by everything he does. Is it normal to be so turned on that I swear I can feel my heartbeat between my legs just from his hand on my thigh and the way his throat bobs when he swallows? “You get your dessert…as long as I get mine.”
I raise a brow, parting my lips to accept the bite of bruschetta he gives me. “What are you getting?” I ask as soon as my mouth isn’t full.